Finally Free
by StarfirePhantom
Summary: Oneshot. How did Omi come to be at the Xiaolin Temple? Was it by mere chance, or something more sinister? Rated K plus for minor swears later on.


Yes, I am not dead. I'm just writing this to get some stress off my chest.

And I like Xiaolin Showdown, too. Especially Jacky Spicer. But Jacky isn't in this. He doesn't have anything to do with it. This is about Omi's past, and how he got to the Xiaolin Temple.

I don't know what happened in "Omi Town", or any of Season 3 (or the end of Season 2) for that matter (My daily dose of XS is on Cartoon Network), so…this is just what I think.

Not only that, but I noticed that there are no sugar high fanfics either! Huh?

Now…for fans of URtrip and ITI…URtrip is just gone. I've given up on it. ITI is on writer's block, and I may have to rewrite it.

Sorry.

I'm trying to start clean. This oneshot is where it begins.

* * *

_Twelve years ago…_

It was a dark and stormy night.

Well, actually it was mid-evening, not really night, and not completely dark. And it wasn't all that stormy, but it was raining. Rather hard.

The dirt road leading out of the city was slowly becoming mud. Not many cared about this- very few even knew that the road existed. And most that did know disregarded it, thinking it to lead nowhere.

But one woman knew better.

She dashed down the long, winding road, not looking where she was going, and yet taking all the care she could to reach her destination. Long, black hair fanned out behind her pale face, untamed and wild, the least of her concerns. Her feet were bare beneath her dirty purple robe, feet which tore on even as mud caked on them.

She had run through the city moments earlier. The few that were out had stared at her in confusion, some at her odd style of dress (considering the weather, not to mention the time period), some at the frightening speed at which she ran, but most stared at what she held onto for dear life. Clutched close to her, shielded fiercely from the wind and rain, was what appeared to be a bundle of olive green robes. Even as she ran, she made sure that it was properly protected. Clearly, it held some item of value to her, an item currently invisible to the human eye.

Now, she frantically trod on the path from earlier, with no other foreseeable goal but to run. Tears and sweat mixed with the rain on her face, but she didn't mind. Rather, she didn't care. All she cared about was getting her prized possession to safety as quickly as she could.

A small, muffled cry emitted from the bundle in her hands- inaudible to most, deafening to her. She stopped, opening the bundle tenderly, to look upon the treasure inside.

It was an infant boy-persumably her son. He appeared to be about three weeks old, completely bald, with an odd yellow hue. His face was scrunched in that way that babies do, as if preparing to break the sound barrier with screaming.

The woman pressed a gentle finger to the child's lips, smiling to herself. "Not now, my angel," she whispered. "Do not cry. You may cry when times are right, but now, it is time to be silent."

Of course, the child didn't know what the heck his mom was talking about. But mysteriously, he obeyed. His eyelids began to droop, and before you knew it, he was asleep. The woman's smile stayed as soft as it had begun, as she gazed upon the baby. Then, her mouth hardened to a thin line. She pressed the boy back upon her chest, and resumed her frenzied race.

Every step grew ever more difficult, yet her will was greater than her mind. She needed to get to her goal- and quickly. If not…she did not dare to think any farther.

Finally, tall, Oriental spires loomed in the distance, hazy through the rain…

* * *

The Xiaolin Temple was quiet and tranquil.

There were no young monks here yet. Just old ones. Very, very old ones. And all they really did was sit around sacred fires chanting. Why? Cause that's what very, very old monks do. There was one with a fancy title- Master Fung- who was slightly wiser than the rest, but otherwise, they were nearly identical.

Tonight was pretty much like any other night. Another night of chanting in front of sacred fires. For most of the monks, anyway. The one called Master Fung was away from the big ol' party. He merely stood in one of the doorways, his blue eyes fixated on the path, not wavering for a second. The only sounds made were those of his own breathing.

He felt something slither up his back- Dojo Kanojo Cho, the temple guardian. It stared at the road as well, but not in the expectance that Fung was- rather, it seemed to be a mockery of the Master.

"Wet," he said, trying to make a good lead-up to a sarcastic remark.

"Yes. Very wet." His gaze did not waver.

"Yeah, and that's all that's out there, too." Dojo groaned, leaning on Fung's shoulder. "Seriously, Fung, there ain't anything interesting out there but rain!"

There was a long pause. Slowly, Fung's head turned. "And there ain't anything interesting inside except an ancient scroll that you _really _shouldbe guarding."

"Why? That ol' newspaper hasn't done anything for the past fifteen hundred years, and it won't for another fifteen hundred." He switched shoulders, the previous one becoming a bit cold. "Say…Monk Gono's tellin some real funny golfer jokes. You gotta hear them! There's this one with a genie-"

"I have heard that one seven times, and it gets less funny each time." He refocused his eyes on the road. "It is raining rather hard."

"Yeaaah…"

"And this temple…it is a rather sturdy shelter."

"Uh huh, uh huh…"

"It would be quite rude to keep a guest out in the rain when such a cover is available. Especially for a matter so trivial as a genie golfer joke."

Dojo stared at Master Fung, then looked around, confused. "What guest?"

"The guest I am expecting. Watch…"

All was silence for a few minutes…

There was a muffled moan, and a loud crash. A hunched figure burst out of a hedge, running at a breakneck speed. Her hair was entangled in the bush, but she did not stop to weave it out- large chunks of branch were torn from the bush, still stuck in the mess as she half-ran, half-stumbled up to the doorway, finally collapsing to her knees. She did not move after this.

"Ooo…that visitor." Master Fung motioned for Dojo to shut up, and then directed his attention to the woman at his feet. "May I help you, ma'am?"

She did not respond at first, but then, a soft voice came from the curtain of wet hair.

"Please…" She lifted her head, which did little to dispel the hair, or improve her appearance. "Please…you have to save him…"

* * *

"I am sorry we do not have any dry clothing for you. We have not had females at the temple for several hundred years." 

True to his word, Master Fung was not just going to leave a guest out in the rain. With the other old monks watching at a distance, the young woman had been led inside by the monk, and offered tea and a place to sit. She refused the tea-she even seemed annoyed by the request-but took the seat. Her child had emerged from his bunting, half awake, his unfocused eyes not wavering from the Master.

Her hair remained plastered to her face by its drenched state. Her eyes, and most of the rest of her face, could not be seen.

Master Fung was opposite her, Dojo on his shoulder. He sighed, sadly, looking at her.

"Ma'am…there is an orphanage right outside of the city. I am sure that they would be happy to take the child in, and they would assure that a loving family will find and adopt him. Maybe an American family."

"No." The woman's voice came as a choked sob, as if this were the hardest thing she had ever done. And it was, actually. "He cannot go there…it is not right for him. It is not right for his destiny."

"You use big words, lady," Dojo interrupted. Fung signaled again for quiet. "I understand what you want for him…and I mean the best for the child as well. But our temple is not the best for him. We are not suited to look after a young child…we're just six old guys who chant around fires all day. He would not thrive here."

"You don't understand," she mumbled. "At the orphanage, he will not be safe. Here…just…please. Take him. Train him as one of your own. I can no longer take care of him."

Slowly, the Master stood up. He looked at the woman sternly. His voice came gently, but with a sense of dominance. "How old are you?"

The woman looked terrified. "S-s-seventeen…but I'm not…I didn't…"

"I know. If the child's abandonment were merely a matter of vanity, you would have simply brought him to the orphanage. Your refusal intrigues me." He held his chin in his hand, thinking.

"Who are you protecting him from?"

The woman's terror did not cease. "How-"

"You were right. He would not be safe at the orphanage." He removed his hand. "May I take a look at the child?"

"Uhhm…" She finally bowed her head. "Yes."

Gently, Fung bent down to look at the small boy, who had not moved from his position earlier. Two black eyes greeted the monk, curious, and in a way, fearful. The old master laid one finger on the child's head. He was rather warm to the touch.

"An injury…" The woman's head did not move. "That…_horror…_he would not stop…I begged him…it was only by a miracle he survived…"

"A complete body burn. That is the cause of his odd coloration?"

"I…yes…I…JUST TAKE HIM!" The woman held a hand to her face, trying to hide her tears.

Fung stood up again, looking on, pensively. Dojo was of no help. "Dude…what are you thinking? You are _not_ going to play Mommy to some little brat!"

"As a matter of fact…ma'am…we would be honored to take your son, and train him as our own."

Even if her face remained covered by hair, the woman's atmosphere seemed to elate. "T-thank you…but…I must know…what convinced you?"

"It would be impossible to survive such an attack at such a young age…unless the child had some sort of special ability." Carefully, he took the boy from the woman's hands. "Be confident, child. Your son is in good hands."

"But you just said-"

"DOJO! Okay…now, one more question."

"I will do anything you say." Some hair fell from the woman's face, revealing one light brown eye, and part of a smile.

"Hokey pokey?"

Groaning angrily, Master Fung grabbed Dojo by the tail and flung him into the next room. He then took his attention back to the woman. "What is the child's name? He must have one."

The mood dropped a little. "Some call him Ominous…do not refer to him as that. It is an insult. He is to be known as…Omi."

"Omi…I see. Do not worry, child. Omi will be well protected. Who knows…perhaps he will be the one protecting us someday."

"Yes…" The woman looked around. "I must leave. Thank you, Master…"

"Fung. I am Fung."

"Yes…I believe I never told you my name…"

"I do not need it, and neither does anyone else. Have a safe journe-"

He didn't need to say anything more. The mysterious, black-haired woman was gone, as were all remnants of the past of the child he bore in his hands.

* * *

Fung looked at the confused baby boy, whose gaze wavered as tiredness overcame him. 

"Omi…my first student…"

He held his hand to Omi's head. It was still quite warm.

"Omi…Xiaolin Dragon of the Water."

He turned around, child and bunting still in hand. "The boys are never going to believe this." He walked from the room, with every step knowing that this child would change the face of Xiaolin forever.

* * *

An hour and several miles away, the woman stumbled into a dark room. She was panting heavily, not yet hit exactly with the importance of her action. She began to stand up…before hearing a voice. 

"Where have you been?"

With a short shriek, the woman stood to attention, yet with her head bowed in respect. "I have not moved from the fortress, sir…surely you believe that…"

A figure was sense able in the darkness, not visible, except for the glint of armor, and the occasional sight of long, black hair-not as long as the woman's, but quite long. A face could not be sensed-his back was turned. He carried an air of importance, power…and at the moment, anger.

"Yes…of course I do…" The clanking of boots was heard, growing fainter…and then they stopped. The man's head turned, an angry look on his face.

"Where is my son?"

Terror completely overcame the woman. "Uhm…err…"

"I will ask again, woman. _Where is my son?_"

"Y-y-you don't understand…I…"

"One more time. **WHERE IN HELL IS MY SON?"**

"Sir-" Suddenly, a sense of calm overcame her. She lifted her head, a triumphant look on her face. "He is somewhere safe. Somewhere you can never find him."

"Is that so?" He sounded calm, but anger grew with every syllable.

"Yes. You are no longer the boss of him…as you are no longer the boss of me." She smiled, a sinister smile.

"Hm…good for you." He stepped closer. "Too bad that you are now slave to someone else. Who, you say?"

The woman did not move.

"The master of Hell, that's who." He stretched out his hand, clenching it in a fist, smiling.

Suddenly, the smile on the woman's face disappeared. She screamed and writhed in pain, as if she were being eaten alive from the inside out. The man was not fazed by the sight. He merely turned around, contemplating, half to himself, half to her.

"You may think he is safe, traitor. But, hear this before the darkness takes you. I will do all I can to find the child you hid. He WILL join the Heylin, and he will sit by my side in the eternity that we will rule. Mark my words, Ominous…YOU CANNOT HIDE FOREVER!"

The woman's screams died with the "FOREVER", taking her with them…

* * *

Scary, eh? 

Some footnotes. Omi's mom doesn't have a name because she doesn't need one. She is not truly anyone, just a frightened woman who is concerned about the future of her son. I don't even consider her a fancharacter. And even though she even admits she is seventeen, I refer to her as a woman, because she possesses the maturity to know what is best for Omi.

But Omi's dad…you might recognize him. First to guess who he is gets a cookie. Clues are in the story and opening paragraph. And right here: Since I have not seen much of the show, I may have gotten a few details about him wrong.

-SP


End file.
